THAT SATURNALIA
by PanicButton
Summary: Spencer OMC. It's the run up to christmas. Spencer spends some time alone, for a while, until the peace is shattered by unexpected chaos and a bit of pain, some slash, some bad language and very needy friends. At least he's not nailed to the table - yet.
1. Chapter 1

THAT SATURNALIA

1

 _Love_ _shows no anger, greed, hatred nor envy, all love knows is peace, kindness and gratitude. I hold love in my heart always, you should too._

This was a quote which Reid often thought about, wondered what, really, what that meant.

Floyd had read it: Bullshit.

Sam hadn't read it. Floyd had told Spencer, once he'd untied him from the radiator in the bedroom, not to even hint that kindness and gratitude had anything to do with love.

* * *

After years of some weird but also quite wonderful peace, they sat facing each other with slightly different expressions on their faces. One looked confused, one looked pissed off and maybe disappointed and finally the last looked as though the blood on his knuckles was just beginning to dry out, the look on his face was that of someone who had just been told that one of the three of them would not be going to Vegas for Christmas.

'We discussed this last year.' Spencer muttered around a sore looking mouth.

'You didn't talk to _me_ about it.' The youth snapped.

Floyd looked at Spencer and then at Sam. It wasn't his compromising expression. 'I don't give a flying fuck what you thought we said or didn't say. Do I look like I give a shit? Things change. I want you to go and visit Mother and I need you gone by… yesterday would have been good, but you're still here, drinking my wine, thinking you have any say in any fucking matter ever. As for you, Sam… I was under the impression you were going to hitch a vacation with Hotch.'

'I told Mother I wouldn't be going. She's made other arrangements.' Spencer stood from the chair he was sitting in and made to go to the kitchen. He had made his own plans and for once, just this once, he wanted things to run smoothly. The tree, for that is what that thing in the corner of the room was. At least it had been before Sam had set eyes on it and torn it apart like a cat. It was a ruined lump and the baubles were missing, but it _had_ been a tree and Spencer had put it up and decorated it and put gifts under it, which once again, Sam had destroyed by opening them all even if his name hadn't been written on the tag. For now it was going to be a drink of coffee. Something other than some kind of drug, to sooth the nerves, though he had to admit that it didn't always have the desired effect. Especially on Sam… he would get Sam a drink of cocoa.

'Hotch told me to fuck off.' Sam informed them.

And this caused Spencer to turn and frown at Sam because Hotch would never use language like that.

Floyd slid back a bit on the coffee table and managed somehow to give Sam a quick grope and a backhand around the face at the same time. 'Every sodding year you both have to do something to ruin my fun. I was assuming that you both would be away, and as I would have had time alone, and as I know I would have spent that time pacing the room and wondering what shit you were both getting up to, well I invited a couple of old friends around for a few days and I don't think that I want you here too, so Sammy, call Hotch and ask if you can spend a few days there and Spencer… What about a visit to Rossi?'

There was no real way that Spencer could get his voice to be heard over the screams of protest from Sam, so he ignored what Floyd had said and made his way down to the kitchen.

The phone call Hotch received happened once the noise in the Reid household had calmed down a bit, it went something like this:

'Hotch? Is that you? I recognise your heavy breathing…'

'What do you want, Sam? I'm busy.'

'Well, you see, it's well into night-time now, so I knew you'd be home from work and I knew that Jack would be in bed – let's hope he's asleep at this time of the night, huh? And I knew that you would have finished your dinner and loaded the dishwasher, and I checked the television channels and there's nothing worth watching, so all in all I picked a fabulous time to call you and show you that I can be a thoughtful and even maybe loving person.'

Sam took a breath and listened to the way Hotch's breathing had deepened somewhat and was that a good sign or not, he wasn't all that sure.

'Sam…' That was what Hotch finally sighed out between his lips which had suddenly gone very dry. 'What do you need?'

'Need? Oh I don't need anything. I was just calling to check up and see, you know… make sure that you're alone. Not alone, I didn't mean alone, not in a creepy sort of way but, I'm not sure how to broach the subject, but I really do promise I'm not actually after anything.'

That was as far as Sam got. It didn't seem to Floyd that he was going to say what he actually needed to, so however much he hated the phone, Floyd snatched it out of Sam's hand and snapped his own words at Hotch. 'It's like this, Aaron, it looks like it's going to be cold over the next couple of weeks and for that reason I thought that you'd not want to see Sam walking the streets and selling his wares to any stranger who will offer him enough money to drop his pants. And I don't think that you want to be called in halfway through your celebrations to be told that Sam had been found dead or seriously injured, in the park, frozen, destroyed and with your phone number stuffed in his back pocket, no change available for the phone because in the beaten state he would be in by that point… you can tell where this is going, can't you? Sam needs a place to stay over the holidays and I know what a kind and generous heart you have so I suggested that he goes to you. He can be there in half an hour. I'll give him money for a cab and something to keep his, I'll… I will not give him drugs. Thank you Aaron, I knew you'd not tell him to fuck off. Have a lovely time and give Jack a hug for me.' The phone was slammed down before Hotch could protest. 'Done. See how easy that was?'

'I really don't think that Hotch wants Sam there. Did he agree to it?' Spencer placed the cocoa and the coffee on the table, on the coasters and flinched slightly when Floyd's fingers twitched. To Reid, this was not going well. This was going to lead to exactly what Floyd had said to Hotch would happen. Sam was going to end up beaten and alone in some hole. Beaten probably by Floyd, but that wasn't the point. He couldn't personally see how Sam was going to be able to spend a few days (which was more likely going to be a couple of weeks at least) at Hotch's place. It wouldn't work. A couple of hours maybe, but over-night? More than one night? Disaster was looming for Hotch.

Spencer's fingernails suddenly became very interesting. He stared at them as he tried to block out the sound of the voices rattling around his head. Ignoring Floyd was not really a very sensible thing to do, but he was doing just that. He ignored the constant demands from Floyd to contact Rossi. He was not going to stay there. He was not going to phone Dave and beg for somewhere to stay over the break. No way that was going to happen. As far as all outside this room knew, life was good. There were no problems. Things might not be set out the way other people would have their lives, but this was Spencer's life and he was not going on his belly, admitting that Floyd had thrown him out so he could have a couple of whores there to celebrate whatever it was Floyd celebrated (it certainly wasn't Christmas) over these next few weeks.

As Spencer inspected his fingernails, ignored a voice which was now directly in his head and not going via his ears (hard to ignore, but ignored nonetheless) he started to grind his teeth and the voice became not only words which Spencer was never sure if was his imagination, his private madness, or voices from hades, someone started to pinch him, on the arm, inner arm, where it actually hurt. He opened his eyes and looked at Floyd who was peering back at him.

'Go say goodbye to Sam. He's packed and ready and then you need to get your things together and you need to prepare to say your goodbyes to me and they might take a bit longer than what I am going to allow you to say to Sam,' Floyd glanced over at where Sam was standing. '…or give Sam. Now look at that happy face of his, and Spence, babes, stop that thing you're doing with your teeth, how many times do I have to tie you up before you'll stop that shit. Move it. Get and say what you need to say, and remember that you don't need to use your hands, fingers, or tongue or any other body part to say goodbye to someone, unless you're saying it to me.'

o-o-o

Hotch stood next to the window in his tidy lounge. He was wearing jeans and Tshirt, and a frown. Carefully he had arranged the curtains, closed, very small gap he could look through to check who or what was going to come knocking on his door or ringing on his bell. This wasn't because he didn't want Jack to wake, though that would have been a good reason. He wanted to make very sure that he didn't accidentally open the door to Sam, who he could see right this moment, sliding out of a yellow coloured cab and slamming the rear door, shouting something at the driver and kicking out just missing doing damage as the car sped away. It had just started to rain. It looked cold. Sam stood for a moment looking over at Hotch's house, his safe place… the light wasn't good enough, nor was the angle of the view he had, to tell what the look was on Sam's face. Hotch let out a long sigh as he watched the teenager walk slowly towards his pathway and then up towards his door.

Though he had no intention, not at all… never would he let that creature into his home, he found he was now standing in front of his lovely front door with his forehead resting on the cool wood, knowing that the door would be opened. Knowing that even though he didn't want Sam in his house, that… yes… even as he was thinking it, he was opening the door, smiling and letting Sam in, taking his bag for him, asking him if there was anything he needed.

'You know, Sam, I don't want trouble. I want you to keep away from Jack. I need you to keep your clothes on and I would really appreciate it if you didn't throw your food at the walls.' A few rules which under normal circumstances, would have been a bit odd, but this was Sam. 'No drugs. No smoking in the house.' He added to the end of his greeting.

'Ah.' Sam said in reply as he walked to the lounge and threw himself onto the couch. 'But it's not drugs. Not as such. I am in such dreadful pain. Awful, dreadful pain. It's medicinal and if you want you can put it in a high up place where Jack can't get to it. For now it's in my bag, near the bottom. But it's really for pain.' Sam pointed to his bag. 'It's just a bit of morphine. Nothing illegal.'

'Go have a shower. Use the downstairs one. Give me that morphine. I'll look after it for you. Please, Sam, don't come out of the shower unless you have dressed yourself again, so whatever it is you wear in bed, put that on.'

Sam raised an eyebrow and nearly smiled. 'Wear in bed? Really?' Now he actually grinned at the man who he was going to try really hard to be nice to, to keep to the rules. He didn't want to be thrown out of the house. Already Spencer had told him to leave and he would let Hotch know that it was all Spencer's fault. Spencer would do anything to make him miserable. That much was shown at the way he reacted during the Christmas tree debacle.

o-o-o

Spencer was not going to contact Rossi. He was not going to tell Floyd, though. There was no need to argue over the matter. There was a very nice motel the other side of the city and it was there he was going to go and spend a few days – really he hoped it wasn't going to be more than that – just relaxing and watching TV and maybe drinking just a bit too much and eating, probably, all the wrong food, but that said, it would be his choices made. No need to compromise on anything.

Oh please, don't go assuming that he minded the little shifts he had to make to keep Floyd happy. He adored that man. Nothing would ever change that. Not even the thought that the man of his dreams – and nightmares – was going to be screwing around with _old friends_ , it wasn't going behind his back, therefore it was not being dishonest and so was not a big problem. It wasn't like he had told Floyd not to do it. (Spencer wanted to spend the next week, at least without a split lip and black eye) It wasn't cheating because Spencer knew all about it. Still made him grind his teeth when he was packing a bag.

He left his, the apartment he shared, after giving his man a quick kiss and a wave goodbye. There were rules he had been told to follow and one of those was to not play around with Dave, which was not likely to happen even if that was where he was going, not to take too many drugs, not to get blind drunk and not to eat too much. Then he was virtually shoved through the door which was closed and locked behind him.

There was money in his bag. He didn't have a card to use – not that he wasn't permitted one; that would have been crazy! Spencer did have his driver's license, but his gun was in the side drawer back at the apartment along with other interesting things. His cell phone was on the table in the hallway. His life was being dragged behind him, but his soul was left behind. It was cold out. It was raining. It was going to be the most miserable week of his life – one of the most miserable, at least he wasn't nailed to a table or tied to a tree, or down a sewer. Fine, not even close to being one of the most miserable, but it still wasn't going to be fun.

The cab dropped him off in the parking lot next to the reception of the motel. The driver huffed some merry words to Spencer, thanked him for the tip, which Reid had accidentally given him and then he strode to the brightly lit building with Christmassy decorations around the window and went in to book a room.

That was perhaps his first mistake.

Maybe, it wasn't. Leaving his cell phone behind might have been the first, or the matter of the gun… perhaps it was that. Not contacting Dave, yes, that was a mistake too and not telling Floyd where he was going.

As Spencer stood in front of door number 7, he considered that first kiss. The one on his dimple. Was that his first mistake, or was it getting on the back of that big old bike with a stranger, almost a stranger. He slipped the key into the lock and pushed the door open to reveal a not very exciting room with a bed and a door leading to the bathroom. A yellow cover over the bed, a dark grey carpet and a small cabinet with somewhere to make a drink (coffee) (granules provided along with small plastic things with a tiny amount of not very nice milk). The room was clean. The red curtains pulled open, and quickly closed to the wet and miserable weather. Spencer dropped his bag onto a small yellow, plastic, chair which stood next to the bed and after closing the door, checking he'd closed the door, making sure that the window was locked, peeking into the bathroom to ensure no stranger was in there. All safe. All secure. He sat on the bed and looked at the TV which he could use if he provided money. With a sigh Spencer flopped back on to the bed and wondered what he was going to do with himself for a week.

He need not have been worried. As it happened, there was plenty of excitement.


	2. 2

2

* * *

For Spencer, that first evening alone was not boring so much as peaceful, at least that is what he was trying to tell himself. He would admit that he would have rather have been at home with his things and his life, but that was not going to happen, therefore he was making the most of what he had. An empty room and a TV with bad reception. There was the occasional sound from outside, laughing voices, a car revving, ready to leave. A dog barked just the once and a car alarm bleeped for a few minutes. That was all though. Reid was tired and hungry. There was a small shop just around the corner and he planned on going there and buying some snacks and better quality coffee and more sugar. He sighed and for a while lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering if it would be a good idea or not to let Floyd know where he was. His thoughts then drifted to the arguments which would follow. Demands that he did as he was told, like a child. Eyes closed, Spencer attempted to go to sleep, just for a short while. Just to recharge and be ready for that exciting trip to SuperValue around the corner. Didn't happen. It just made his eyes water and a dreadful ache inside his gut; not hunger, but certainly some kind of loss. It travelled, the pain did… it made its way up to his head where it settled at the front of his brain, sending out tendrils or spikes of pain in a circle, eventually wrapping around and tightening in. He rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips and slowly got up.

The trip to the shop was so uneventful that Spencer had to double check what he had bought just to make sure he'd actually been and it wasn't some kind of weird dream. But no. The new coffee was on the side as was a plastic pack with a premade ham sandwich. He prodded the transparent window on the container and wondered what had made him buy such a revolting thing! He checked the receipt he had stuffed down in his jacket pocket and there it was, one ham sandwich, he'd bought it.

It was *The Madness* - he was sure of it. Something creeping around in his brain, forcing him to do things he wouldn't normally do. One fine sunny day, at some point in the future he would be wondering the streets, confused, alone, and completely insane. Spencer was sure of it. It didn't matter how many tests he had, or how many times he was told that there was no real risk of it, Spencer knew that his time would eventually come. No one could go through what he had and not have some type of brain malfunction. He took a couple of pain killers, made sure the door and window was locked, had a quick shower and then rested back on the bed. Oddly he fell asleep almost as soon as he rolled over onto his stomach and hugged the pillow.

o-o-o

The chair, Spencer's chair, was dragged into the bedroom and pushed over against the wall in the corner. The bed was stripped down to the mattress and slightly green water which had a scent of cat piss was sprinkled over it… muttered words hissed between teeth. The pictures on the walls all over the apartment were turned around. The rug was taken up in the lounge and shoved into the hallway cupboard. It took a while, but all books on the shelves were turned with the spine inwards. Floyd sat on the couch, feet up on the coffee table and sipped on overly sweet coffee and sent good wishes to his boys who he was quite sure were going to have a lovely week or so off.

Obviously there was a slight irritation that his boys were not here, yet would they enjoyed drunken and drugged debauchery, well Sam might, but Spencer wouldn't be so into that. If you wanted to ask Floyd's opinion on the matter, he would likely tell you to fuck off, so probably not worth the bother.

o-o-o

Jack was having a few days away! Oh the excitement. He would be back before Christmas, of course he would, but staying with friends for a few days was going to be great! With that part of the problem sorted and Jack packed up and gone before Sam could argue about it, Hotch had some things to talk about.

'Last night.' Hotch started with that statement, as Sam stood there in some very tight grey shorts which showed off his butt, and a very cropped red top to cover nipples.

Sam frowned. He was sitting on a stool in the kitchen, elbows on the counter and a plastic plate with toast and jam laying there slowly getting cold. 'It was a misunderstanding. You know why. You fucking set me up to fail before I could blink. That was purposeful. I don't like it when people do that sort of thing to me. It's bad enough when it's sort of planned or just me being a prat, but for you to set me up to fail like that… I thought better of you, Aaron. I like you. Did you know that I actually like you? I discard the wretched look you always have – and I gave you a chance to prove yourself, but you don't do the same for me. Disappointing.'

Hotch sat the other side of the counter, placing two glasses of orange juice there and pushing one of them towards Sam. 'At no point in any discussions we had, did I say you could get into my bed. Not once. I gave you the spare room to sleep in. I trusted you and the first chance you get, you have to do something as base and vulgar as that. I can't trust you around my boy.'

'Your boy wasn't in the bed. And you did say I could share with you. You told me to put something on to wear in bed! What else could you have possibly meant? Don't back-pedal. You're really twisting what you said to get out of it. I didn't even grope you or anything. I'd not got further than licking the back of your neck and you were all up and out of bed and shouting at me! I'd not done anything! I still don't know what the fucking problem is and what makes you think I'd want to do anything to Jack! He's a kid! You think I'm a kiddy fiddler now? I would more put that label on you! You're the one inviting me to stay and offering up your bed to share! Fucking hell! What sort of a person do you think I am? Look at me, Aaron! Look at me. How old do I look? I have this rare genetic thing going on and I don't look as old as I really am. I drank from the fountain of youth and will forever look like this. That doesn't mean I am. And I don't fuck kids. Fuck you! How could you accuse me of that! I didn't go near Jack!' Sam took a breath. 'I'm not like Floyd.' He concluded and picked up his glass of juice. 'And I'm in pain and need some pills. Where did you hide them?'

o-o-o

Spencer jerked awake when someone started to hammer on the door of the room he was staying in.

'A moment!' He called and the noise stopped, but somehow Spencer knew that someone was outside. Floyd? Had he found him and come to get him? He was just pleased that he'd thought to shower before falling asleep. He went quickly to the door and pulled back the lock and swung the door open.

It wasn't who he expected.

o-o-o

Dave had booked a cruise. He was right now halfway across the other side of the world, sunning himself on the deck and sipping alcohol and praising all that could be praised that even if there was a disaster somewhere back home, he was here… in the middle of the sea. Blue sea which stretched out forever. Nope, Dave was unavailable. Didn't matter how hard you hammered on his door or how many stones you threw at the kitchen windows and it didn't matter if someone howled like a dog through the mail slot, Dave wouldn't hear.

o-o-o

Different for Emily, though. Very different.

We all have regrets. Opening the door to someone without checking who it is, that's one of them. Many more too. Oh so many more.

'Oh. It's you.'

Sam dropped his bag at Emily's feet and stood with hands on hips and sighed a big wobbly sigh. 'Sorry if it's such a disappointment, but we get along fine, don't we? I mean really we don't have a problem, do we?' He pushed the bag into the apartment with the toe of his pink boots, and crept forward so he was himself over Emily's threshold. 'I wasn't going to come to you because I assumed you'd have your girls here doing girly stuff with each other and I didn't want to watch that dirty, dirty stuff, so I tried other places first. You know how it is though.' Sam pushed by Emily and strode into her lounge where he threw himself down onto her lovely couch with squashy cushions and a view over the city – the bright lights which twinkled like some kind of pagan blessing upon the world – but it was daytime so no lights yet.

'What do you want?' Emily asked. For some odd reason she didn't sound very happy.

'A coffee would be lovely.' Sam replied.

'What do you want with me, in my home, now?'

Sam glanced up and shrugged. 'You going to bitch at me? What do you expect me to do? Walk the streets? Pick pockets and rob people to get enough money so I don't have to sleep behind the bins at the back of the shops, or sell my arse, cock and mouth to some diseased trollop? Everyone is surprising me recently. First Floyd chucks me out and then Spencer bitches at me and I can't go with him. And then Hotch accuses me of being a junky whore slut… really… it was all him. I didn't do a damned thing! Then Dave's not there. Or he just wouldn't open the door to me. You are my last hope, Emily. My very last hope and I'll sleep on the couch and I won't watch you in the shower and I'll keep out of your private room and keep my hands off you. Just a week or so.'

'I'll give you the money to book a room somewhere.' She still didn't sound happy.

Sam glared lovingly at Emily. 'I appreciate the offer. That's very – um, thoughtful of you, especially around this time of the year when the cost of rooms skyrockets to a stupidly insane amount of money, but no. Better if I stay here and you can put my morphine somewhere safe so I don't overdose, because I'm so depressed that no one likes me enough to offer me a bed when I'm obviously in distress.'

'Distress.' Emily repeated that last word to echo how she was feeling. 'You can't stay here, Sam. Not because – well yes – because I don't think – it's just not right.'

She walked to the kitchen, glancing at Sam's tatty bag and trying to figure out how to get this nasty creature out of her apartment. She could already smell him, though she had to admit that it wasn't a bad smell. It was an overly strong smell of roses. It was a smell Sam often carried with him. Whether it was a good or bad smell she didn't want it in her comfortable and safe (usually) home.

Making coffee didn't take her too long. A jug was already made up and so all she had to do was pour into a couple of mugs and then add sugar. Sam took his coffee black, as she did herself. When she looked around, Sam was there watching.

'It's not that I don't like you…' She started.

Sam cut her off with a wave of his hand. 'Actually it is. I know you don't like me, not in the same way Hotch does. It's Floyd you like sniffing around.'

Emily raised her well maintained eyebrows. 'I do not sniff around him! Can't you see that this is the reason people can't have you staying at their places? And certainly not for more than one night. You make accusations which are just not how things are. You say that you're older than you appear. You've said that many times, but you act like a child. A very uncooperative child with some sort of malfunction going on somewhere. Drink the coffee and we will try to figure out where you can stay for Christmas. There are shelters.'

'No.' Sam took the coffee and blew over the top. 'There are not any shelters which will allow me through their doors. I'm banned from all of them. Ridiculous I know. It's not how things should be, but I'm on morphine and that's not considered being clean. Like Spencer, you know? Like Spencer, I've not injected for a couple of years, or months… Okay there was that stuff I took a few weeks ago, but really it was just that once or twice and how can you say _no_ to something like that? Know what I mean? And my crack pipe hasn't been used since, well… it was before I went to stay with Hotch, so a couple of days now, but apart from that, there's been little or no drug use. I don't count smoking the herbs. They're not real drugs.'

Emily wondered, as she listened to Sam babbling on, how he could say so much and not take a breath. He spoke quickly, giving no chance to stop and add something to what he was saying. 'One night and no drugs.' She finally said. 'And you cannot be here Christmas day. Do you understand that?' She pulled on the front of her blouse, suddenly feeling that there was some creepy creature looking through the fabric at what she had on under it. There was a temptation to tell him to stop whatever that was he was doing, but that would have let him know that whatever it was, it was working. She put a sweater on. A big baggy sweater which covered her down to mid-thigh and she hoped it would stop the feeling she was getting.

'That smell.' She suddenly said as she sat on a small wooden chair in the lounge. 'That smell you carry around with you. It reminds me of something.'

'Soap. They sell it in a shop downtown. It's quite beautiful. Rose soap.' Sam grinned.

Emily shook her head at him. 'No. Not soap. More like that spray which can be used in the bathroom.'

'The one to cover up the smell of shit? You telling me I smell of shit? Really?' Sam stood. 'May I have a shower? Do you have some nice smelling stuff I can use?'

Now, finally, a real look of distress on his face. She pointed in the direction of the bathroom. 'Help yourself. Take your time. I'll put a pizza in the oven – or at least get one ready for later.'

o-o-o

Spencer woke up in the dark. He had no memory of going back to sleep after answering the door, or who it was standing there when he did. It wasn't Floyd or Sam, he knew that much, but apart from that… he tried to wipe away some stray hair off his face only to realise that he had been tied up. Hands in front of him, so the hair was still wiped, but he couldn't actually see where he was. The floor was hard, his back was to a wall. There was a sound of dripping water and a smell of somewhere old. That soggy cardboard and old cars sort of smell. It reminded him of nothing. But the thought rattled through his sleepy brain that his idea about spending the next week somewhere almost nice had been put on hold.

Should he call out? Ask what was going on? Struggle to get away? Were there monsters watching from the corners of the room? No red eyes were looking his way – hopefully he was alone for now. He wiggled his toes and pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them, hands secured and laying on his lap. He was clothed! That was a damned good start. It didn't feel as though anything had been done to him. Not yet at least. He wasn't going to raise hopes too high for now. Floyd would find him. He would come looking and he would rescue him. That was a good thought. If someone or something had snatched him, then he would be missed. Except no-one knew where he had been. He wasn't at Dave's, where he would be expected to be. Now, Spencer thought what a fool he had been for not making that quick call to Floyd to let him know.

A door creaked. He could hear footsteps. A clank of something being put down on the floor and voice. The voice of a girl. A child. 'A drink.' She said. 'The light will be put on and your hands untied, but only if you behave. Don't even think of escaping. There's rules to follow and he won't be doing with you messing things around. Understand?'

Spencer nodded and tried to see who it was talking to him. 'Floyd? Are you talking about Floyd?'

There was a sniff of a laugh. 'No… fool. No. But damn is he going to go off on one when he can't find you! It's going to be so funny.' Then the sound of her walking away and that creak of the door again. Spencer was plunged back into a cold, damp silence.


	3. Chapter 3

3

* * *

The light suddenly flickered, went out, flicked on and off, stuttered for a while and then settled for a yellowish coloured bit of strip lighting in the middle of the room. Spencer blinked and looked up at it. A long plastic case sat on the ceiling, covering up the tube. He could see dead flies laying there behind the lumpy transparent plastic… almost transparent. It was stained yellow which was likely what was causing the light to not be the bright white it should have been. Now he could see the cup of water which had been put next to him, and he could see the wooden door, painted green, set into the dirty grey wall. There was nothing else here apart from himself and in the corner there was what appeared to be a very dirty toilet, which he really hoped he'd never have to use. The floor was concrete. The paint on the walls looked shiny, but was probably the damp he could feel. He let out a sigh when the door clanked and creaked and opened a slight amount. The face of a grubby girl peeked through the gap, she then slowly crept into the room and gave Spencer the smallest of smiles.

'So glad you're not dead or anything.' A voice not much more than a whisper. 'If I come closer, you're not going to kick me or something are you? Because they will turn off the light again and, well, that will be the end. For you at least.'

Reid nodded slightly. 'Are you being held here? A prisoner? Can you untie me?'

She screwed up her face and licked at her lips. 'I, I can't really tell you that. I've been told not to communicate with you. Not personal stuff. He wouldn't like that.'

'Who is this man? Has he got a name? Do you have a name?'

She took a small step towards him. 'That would be personal information, now don't you think? Put your hands out and I'll untie them. Or you can stay as you are. Not my problem. Won't make me lose sleep, but the better you are at doing what is asked, the more treats you will get.'

Spencer blinked at the small girl in a yellow sun dress and wellington boots. 'Are you real?'

'No.' She took Reid's hands in hers and pulled the binding away. A blink of her dark, dark eyes, which reminded Spencer of something. They looked familiar. Yet he couldn't place where he had seen those eyes before.

'Do I know you from somewhere?' He could feel that he was staring at her face.

'How can you possibly know me? I'm not real.' She turned her back on him and walked back to the door. 'I'll bring food. But if you keep asking stuff, then I'll not be back again.' Then she was through the door and it was slammed shut behind her. No scraping sound this time. There was a chance that the door hadn't been locked.

Spencer slowly got to his feet. He ached all over, but couldn't find any actual injuries. Picking up the cup of water he saw it had a film of dust and bits on the top of it. Not something he was going to drink. He placed it back down again and walked over to where the toilet sat, looking grimy, but not really smelling like he thought it would. The water there had a blue tinge to it. There was a roll of paper wrapped in plastic on the floor between the bowl and the wall.

It seemed odd to Reid. He was a captive. He had been threatened, by a child, but he was still being given odd home comforts.

His back was wet from where he had been leaning on the wall, as was his rear from sitting of the hard floor. His wrists were a bit red, but not damaged to the point of bruising. Nothing made sense. For a while he stood looking at that door. There was a brass knob. He knew that the door pulled inwards. Also there was no sound coming from the other side. There was a good chance that he was able to just walk out of here, just wander out walk away from this place.

There was also a very good chance that there were armed men out there just waiting for him to do exactly that.

What would Floyd do? Sit and wait? He thought not. Floyd would leave and stop anyone who tried to prevent it.

Spencer wasn't Floyd, though. Nor was he Sam. He wasn't going to sit and cry and protest, he also wasn't going to open that door and kill everything he could see. There was the fact that this wouldn't have happened to Floyd in the first place and likely they would have strung Sam up already because of his need to shout his demands.

There was nowhere to sit, apart from on the toilet, and that was not going to happen, or on the floor where he had been before, and after pacing the room for a while (no idea how to tell, no watch), he sat back down, pulled his feet close and rested his head on his knees. Eventually someone other than a child would come to talk to him. If not, well then he would reconsider an escape attempt. Not yet. He wanted to know why he was here.

o-o-o

Sam tried to behave. He really put a lot of effort into not insulting Emily, or doing something she would find annoying. He remembered to put clothes on. Proper things. Skinny jeans and a sparkly shirt. A bright pink one. He tied his hair back so it looked like he really had considered everything. There was still a nagging feeling in his gut that what was meant to be an alluring scent which he carried with him, stank of toilets, but he cleaned his teeth and his hair had been washed, so all in all he wasn't too worried. Emily hadn't commented on his smell again, so for now he tried to push that uneasiness away.

That, none of it seemed to have made a difference. It didn't appear that anything he did ever pleased. Always the complaints. Forever hated and pushed away.

'Goodwill for all men.' Sam had shouted this. Maybe yelling in her face was the wrong thing, but it narked him so damned much! 'I know I don't actually celebrate this fantasy, but fuck's sake, Auntie Em, you would think you would put yourself out just a damned bit!'

Nope. That wasn't how this little break was going to go for Sam.

'Firstly, I'm not your auntie, stop calling me that. Then there's the fact that I have some friends coming over to visit and I can't have you here. I'll give you some money for a cab. Book yourself in somewhere.' She was standing looking out of the window, watching Sam's reflection in the glass.

'Everyone hates me.' A whining voice whispered at her back. 'There's nowhere to go.'

'Home.' She hissed.

Sam slumped on the couch. The couch he could sleep on if only she would let him. 'Floyd won't let me go home. He's doing stuff.'

'Well, I'm doing stuff too. You can't stay.'

'You invited me in! You opened the door and let me in. You offered to let me stay here for a couple of weeks.'

'No.' She span around to look at Sam making himself too comfortable in her lounge. 'You forced your way in. And you have another family you can stay with.'

Sam raised his eyebrows at the woman. 'You're kidding me. Really you're having a laugh. And I don't even know where they are and you think they'll receive me with happy and open arms? You really believe that I won't be treated like an animal and put in a cage? Thanks for the idea, though. May I have a look on your computer to see if I can trace where they are? At least I won't be – I don't know how to describe how people have made me feel these past few days. I am reviled. Loathed and hated. Even the cab drivers threated to beat the merry shit out of me. What do I do that's so wrong?'

Emily scratched at her neck and looked through traitor's eyes (at least they were traitor's eyes to Sam) and shook her head. 'If you don't know what it is by now, then you will never know. You don't listen. You lie without even knowing you're doing it. You're rude and vulgar. I'm not surprised that even Floyd didn't want you around. Really. What was it that Hotch didn't like? He must have said why you couldn't stay there.'

'Overly sexual. Said he wouldn't share his bed with me and he didn't like my clothes or having his neck licked. Objecting to my complaints over his cooking. Drinking. Grinding up my morphine so I could snort it. I'm in dreadful pain. He didn't like me smoking in the house and he missed Jack who he had sent somewhere else because he can't be around me because I'm so disgusting. He said I was a dirty slut. He said I was a dog bitch. He accused me of being lazy. Lazy! Can you believe that?'

She could. She could believe _that_ , but not all of what Sam had said. Why couldn't he just tell the truth? It was the lack of trust she had in him. There was none. She didn't want and could not have Sam here when her friends arrived. Quickly she walked away. Her money was hidden away in her bedroom, behind a locked door. The only safe place she could think of. A place Sam couldn't get to. Her pity for the boy was slim. There was a small amount there, but she had a very good idea that it was because of that vile stench he was wafting over towards her.

'Wait there. Or you can make a coffee. Don't grind your medication in my kitchen, if you don't mind and I will sort something out for you. I know where Iolanda is. We do keep a track on his whereabouts. It's not far from here. I'll give you money for a cab to get there, but you are not staying overnight here. Is that understood? Break my rules, give me reason to mistrust you and I will just throw you out into the rain. That's up to you.' She pointed at the kitchen and walked down to her bedroom.

So that was the reason Sam was sitting in the back of yet another cab going wherever it was Emily had told the driver to go. He'd tried crying. He'd kicked her in the shins. He'd thrown a pot at her window, and what he did to her Christmas tree couldn't be described, but to say it was in bits on the floor and the baubles had been stamped on.

o-o-o

It was another girl who came to visit Spencer next. She was dragging behind her a small and thin mattress and a blanket. They were dropped onto the floor just inside the door as she frowned at Reid who was watching her closely.

'Thank you.' He tried to show as little anger as he could. This child was older than the previous. She was wearing jeans and a sweater. Her dark hair was tied tightly back and her dark eyes looked uncompromising and maybe tired.

'I'm not permitted to have conversation, but to deliver a message to you. Put this where you will be most comfortable. Food will be here soon. And a drink.'

Again it was those familiar eyes. This girl must be related in some way to the previous one. Now, though, there was something more. The accent. Those clipped words. He would have asked, but didn't want to annoy the child, so he just nodded at her and waited for the door to close again until he went over and pulled the mattress to the spot he had already marked as his place. A slightly less damp bit off the room. His stomach was rumbling. His mouth felt dry and he had a very good idea that his breath wasn't the most minty fresh it could have been.

He should have asked the child, as he had the other one. Was she real? Was this his over active imagination? Was he really here, or was he slumped on the bed in the motel? He would have liked it to been the latter, but had a good idea it was the former. Either way – one or the other – eventually Floyd would notice that he was gone… missing… and he would come and get him. How long it would be? How long until he was missed?

Sending out messages: _Floyd? I need you_ was getting no reply.

o-o-o

Floyd turned off his ability to pick up on what his boys were feeling. It interfered dreadfully with the way drugs made him feel. He wanted the full effect and not have it muffled by Spencer complaining about something or Sam being screwed by some backstreet stranger. His friends had arrived, in a puff of yellow smoke, glitter, and a yell of happiness. The celebrations started with howls and yappings of madmen who were high enough to glue themselves to the ceiling and call for the gods of whatever and wherever to grant them with peace and love and arse.

That was about all Floyd could remember about his week of licking and drunken revelry. He had a good feeling that he had been howling like a dog and singing something and expecting more. This was not a celebration which happened every year, so he was going to make the most of it.

When the world seemed to come back into focus again, he was laying on his back on the bed, fully clothed… not fully aware, but there was a nasty taste in his mouth and a thought that maybe he'd been here all along. Had his visitors arrived? No idea. Would have been nice to think that it had happened, but just as good to think it hadn't. He pulled the rubber band off his upper arm and rubbed at marks on his arm where it looked as though he'd been stabbing himself with needles. Probably the same one over and over again. His tongue was bitten along both sides, and there were cuts on his palms where he had dug his fingernails in. Eventually he would move, actually move more than his eyelids and toes and he would get up, and see if the apartment had been as wrecked as he thought it had.

o-o-o

Spencer had food. Some sort of chicken cooked until it was a bit burnt and there was some gritty bread. He had also been given a plastic bottle of water with a screw on lid and another one with what looked like watered down red wine. Spencer ate the food. No need to starve himself, and he drank some of the water, but the suspect liquid he decided to leave. It was a good feeling, if any of this could be called good, that the water bottle made a small hiss as the seal was broken. At least it hadn't been tampered with. The same couldn't be said for the other bottle, which had definitely been interfered with in some way or another.

For now, with the light on, and sitting there on his mattress, which was delightfully comfortable compared to the floor, he rocked back and forth slightly and then lay down, watching the twinkling of the lights which covered the ceiling and the rainbows darting beautifully from the flickering yellowish light. Actually, with the music playing somewhere, distantly, yet clear as a summer day, he was feeling content. The world was a fantastic place to be. There were no complaints. Nothing.

'Remarkable.' He whispered the words from between slightly sore and cracked lips.

'Hey.' The voice of an angel spoke softly to him, causing the lights to wobble and lose focus for a few seconds.

Reid turned his head to look at the child standing at his side. 'You're not real.' He muttered and reached out for his water.

'Maybe not. Look at me.'

'I don't need to. I know you're not there.'

'You know me? Recognise me?'

Again Spencer turned to look at the girl standing there. Familiar again. Those dark eyes. The shape of the face. 'One of the many.' Spencer smiled.

'An original. No others quite like me. I can't stay here. I have to go. Just know that I'm keeping an eye on you. I'm not meant to be here, but they're all dancing around the fire with ribbons in their hair and eating chicken and roasted cat. Not my idea of fun… apart from the ribbons. I'll be back, but I can't be sure when.'

'You're not meant to talk to me. Leave me alone.' Spencer waved a hand in the direction of the girl. She was wearing tight jeans and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

'I'll come back when it's safe. I need to get away and let him know.'

Spencer blinked a few times and the person was gone again. If she had ever been there. But there was something bothering him about this last little girl. Apart from she wasn't as young as the other two. This one was taller, more familiar. Something about that clipped accent and the shape of her chin and mouth. A vision from a dream long ago. No point in puzzling over it. Spencer returned to looking at the lights and rainbows and wondered if this was anything like how Floyd felt when he did his powders. Did he feel this absolute peace and wonder?

'Beautiful.' And he smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

4

* * *

Pulsating.

Floyd knew something had gone slightly wrong.

His whole body felt as though a pygmy had been trampling on him and twisting his nipples.

The rest of him: pulsating.

Finally he could move a few more bits of his body. Holding his hands up in front of his face was one of those things. He could turn them palm out and he could lay them on his sticky stomach and even prod one finger at a time into his belly button. Turning his head to check up on Spencer's chair was achieved on day two. He stank of cat's piss and had a fleeting thought that maybe that was what he had sprinkled over the mattress. Life was being very strange. Messages sent out via his brain to the brains of his boys didn't work. It was blocked in the cotton wool and horsehair which had apparently taken up residence in his head. This was likely the reason he was having trouble moving.

He needed a smoke.

He needed a drink.

Very much, he needed to be able to move enough to get off the damned bed and waving his hands in front of his face didn't seem to be doing the job.

 _Spencer?_

 _Sammy?_

Nope. Nothing getting through to anywhere yet.

It took a week. A whole fucking week! Maybe. Perhaps it was only a few hours or even a month. Time swivelled and swayed in so many directions that Floyd couldn't keep tabs on what was going on. He knew that he at one point had managed to drag himself to the hallway. He had even got to his knees and crawled to the lounge only to discover that it was in perfect order and it didn't appear that anyone had been revelling in there after all. Odd. Unless his friends had cleared the mess up for him, or as he was beginning to wonder, it had never happened in the first place. Kneeling was good. He could do that and rest elbows on the couch and close his eyes with his head relaxing there between them. It was comfortable until his feet started to tingle and go numb.

Getting out of the apartment had been fine, though he banged against the walls and didn't think that using the stairs was the most sensible thing he had ever attempted. He crawled down them, backwards. Drooling maybe just a bit and singing a song he remembered from somewhere but had forgotten where. Life was good! He was walking, thinking, seeing and he knew where his boys where and so to Dave's he went, it being the closest. Or the furthest? Didn't matter he was going to get on his bike and… no… he was going to get a cab, actually. He didn't think he quite had the balance to bike it there and didn't want to accidentally fuck everything up by damaging it. He gave it a stroke though and stood on the street grinning – which might have been why people were staring at him – but finally something pulled up and he slipped into the back, giving Dave's address.

'Can you stop that?' The driver spoke to Floyd via the rear view mirror.

Floyd grinned back. It was actually hurting to keep his face like that, but he had an idea that it was stuck. 'Stop what?'

'Grinning like that. You're giving me the creeps, man.'

Floyd pulled his face back into a more normal look and wondered why he'd not killed the man for talking to him like that, but this person was being of use for now. A slaughter would not get him to Dave's.

Knocking with some degree of politeness didn't get Dave to answer the door. Pressing the bell until his finger ached got him nowhere, either. However, it was not impossible to get into Dave's house via the rear door. The place seemed abandoned. Or at least, Dave wasn't there and nor was Spencer. Searching the house and the liquor cabinet only found Floyd some wine, which he quickly drank from the bottle and a small bottle of whisky which slipped nicely into a pocket for now. Upstairs the beds were made up, but there was no sign of Spencer, again. He pulled all the clothing out of wardrobes and drawers and left it strewn over the very nice carpeted flooring. Do you know how dirty carpets are? No Floyd didn't either but the germs lingering in and on them was quite high. They were really, if you thought about it, quite vile. Looked nice, but Floyd wouldn't have licked one. At least not today.

It actually appeared that Rossi was not there and by the faint amount of dust on the top of the dresser, seemed he'd not been here for a while, which if turn meant that his Spencer hadn't been here either, which was now a puzzlement for Floyd. Where the merry hell was his boy.

He left Dave's via the back door again, not bothering to secure it, but he did think to close it behind him. Nothing there worth taking. Unless you wanted old man's baggy jeans and nasty shirts. Which would be no good to man nor beast now they had been laying on that filthy carpet. Vacuuming them did nothing. Steam cleaning didn't do anything but make the fibres damp and a breeding ground for bacteria.

Which that dirty thought on his mind and the grin gone, he found another cab and directed it to Hotch's place where he was going to collect Sam and find out from him where Spencer was, because if you asked Sam, he fucking well knew everything. Bloody know-all bastard child… not a child… no. Sam was an adult. Probably. Maybe. Depending on how much you had been drinking. The cab dropped him off at the end of the street. Floyd fancied some fresh air and a thought. Some time to consider things.

He used the bell at Hotch's place. He would expect him to knock. He would recognise Floyds hammering fist but not the _ding dong_ of the stupid arse bell. The door was opened on the security chain and Hotch's normal scowling face peeked through the gap.

'Go away. Leave before I call someone and have you removed.'

Floyd thought his was rather rude. Considered fleetingly if he should reach through the gap and tear the bastard's throat out and as this was the season of goodwill, changed his mind.

'Just here for Sam.'

Hotch shook his head. 'He's not here.'

'Ah.' Floyd frowned and tucked his slightly dirty and cat piss scented hair behind his ears. 'When will he be back? Not here to cause trouble. Just time he came home.'

Again the wanker shook his head at Floyd. Was he really on a death wish here? 'He only stayed one night. Then left.'

'Ah-ha.' Floyd now shook his head at Hotch. 'He's not here? I told him to come here. Where did he go?'

'I've no idea. I assumed he went home.'

Floyd backed slightly away from the door. 'You threw him out? This time of the year? Am I going to have to search all and every backstreet for a frozen corpse which his pants around his ankles? I don't understand you. I really thought you were the sort of person who would know. Get me? I thought with your job and stuff that you would understand why you don't chuck someone like Sam out onto the fucking streets! This time of the year? Now? You confuse the shit out of me. Can I come in? A coffee maybe? A chat?'

'No.' The door slammed shut and Floyd was left there standing on Hotch's doorstep wishing he'd gone with the throat ripping idea.

'Motherfucker.' Floyd spat at the door, then walked back down the pathway to sit on the curb and think. There had been no smell when Hotch had opened the door. There was a smell of food and drink, but not of Sam. He really wasn't there. It wasn't some sort of trick. Floyd hated to be fooled by arseholes like Hotchner, but now there were only a couple of options left.

He walked to the local cop shop and stood at the counter, patting it with his palms and shouting demands until someone finally came to ask what the hell it was he was after.

'My boy. Is he here, been pulled in for flashing his arse, drunk, drugs? Picking pockets? Anything? Sam. You'd know him. This tall, dark hair and eyes. Dresses like a faggot. Usually high as a kite and a bit of a mouth on him.'

The description didn't fit anyone they had seen over the holidays. They asked if he needed a nice warm cell to rest his damp and dirty head and body on for a day or two, or was he going to leave?

'Can you contact the hospitals for me? He's gone missing.'

He was asked to wait outside and they would make a few calls for him. Floyd waited inside and paced and smoked and drank some whiskey until they finally said that as far as they knew, his Sam was not locked up and not in hospital, now could he please get out of the building and maybe dry himself out then go home.

Home is where the heart is. Don't they say that? Spencer was not where he was meant to be. Sam wasn't anywhere as far as Floyd could tell. He needed to contact someone else on the team. The so called team. Those shits who tried to take Spencer from him.

Floyd knew that Spencer wouldn't have gone to JJ. He knew he'd not fucking DARE go to Morgan. There was only one other, apart from Garcia who he didn't think was on the list, Emily. Though it was doubtful that Spencer would have gone there. No love lost between those two, she might know where the living fuck Dave was. It was a start. He knew where Emily lived and so it was a jog he took to her place. No cabs needed this time. He wanted to run off the alcohol and the remaining drugs whooshing through his system before he talked to Prentiss. His mind tended to go to places it shouldn't and wouldn't normally, when he was around that woman.

o-o-o

'Do I know you?' Spencer asked the strange girl hunkered down next to him. The light was behind her, the face in shadow. He reached out to touch, but the girl moved back out of reach, almost as though she was afraid. 'I know I've seen you before.' And he was certain of that. It was the girl in the shirt and tight jeans.

She whispered a reply, hardly moving her lips, constantly turning her head to the side to look at the door. Was she waiting for someone? 'They're drugging you, Spencer. Don't eat the food they bring. Chuck it down the toilet and flush. I'll bring you other stuff to eat. I don't know if they're doing anything to the water. Just avoid the food for now. I've also got this.' She flashed a tube in Spencer's face. 'I'll tuck it under the mattress, don't let anyone see it. Don't use it unless you are certain no one will walk in on you. Only flush the food away when this big light goes out and, never, not ever, stand up or appear even slightly with it when someone else comes in. Trust only me. Understand. Just let me know you understand.'

Spencer gave a small nod and watched as though from the end of a long fuzzy tunnel as a small pale hand slipped something under his mattress.

'I have to go now. Don't tell anyone I've been here or I'll be strung up and possibly eaten for dinner.' She stood and looked down at Spencer. 'I'm doing my best here Okay?'

'Fine… yes. Do I know you? Are you real?'

The girl shook her head and walked quickly away, putting an ear to the door before opening it and leaving.

For now Spencer stayed where he was. There really was no or very little reason to swim over to the door. The beauty of the waterfall was taking up most of his attention. The thing which had been slipped into hiding for him, was for now forgotten. He sipped on some water and nibbled on some dry crackers and wondered if that girl had really been here.#

'Where have I seen her before?' He asked himself before the memory of her drifted to walking in the woods with the smell of the forest and the sounds of water filled his mind.

o-o-o

As Sam had done, not all that long ago if you consider the life expectancy of a demon, Floyd pushed his way into Emily's apartment. Actually placing a hand just below her breasts and shoving hard.

'I need to talk to you, sweetheart.' Floyd told her. No questions yet. He needed a top up of coffee and knew where her kitchen was and knew where to get the things to make a good coffee in her apartment. Not like he'd not been there before. Sneaking around in the dark, sniffing her sheets and licking her pillow.

Emily closed the door and locked it. There was no point in telling him to leave. She had plenty of experience with Floyd and knew if he wanted to make coffee, that he intended on staying a while. For now she just returned to the lounge and sat, waiting.

Coasters were placed, not by Prentiss, but by her guest. She just sat staring at her coffee table wondering where the hell Floyd had found those! She didn't even know she owned coasters! Now coffee was carefully put on them. White mugs. Black coffee.

'Is there any point in asking you to leave?' There was always a chance, slim, but it was there.

Floyd pulled a frown at her and shook his head. 'I need to talk to you about things. Ask you questions, I can do that through the mail slot if you'd rather, but the whole of the neighbourhood will hear what I have to say, and you might not want that. Just a thought. Do you know where Dave is?'

Now Emily was confused. Floyd was here to ask about Dave? 'Well, yes. Sort of. The team has been given leave. A while – longer than usual. It was thought that we all needed a break. He's gone away. A vacation. I don't know where.'

'So – he's not at home? When did he leave?'

'A few weeks ago. Why is where Rossi is important to you?'

'Spencer.' Was the reply. 'I sent Spencer there for the holidays. Thought he could walk the dogs with him and stuff – he's not there. I don't know where Spencer is. I've mislaid him. It's not a good feeling. Then, then there is the matter that I still have horsehair and some sort of goo imbedded in my brain and my fucking skills are much lacking and I can't contact him. You see that might be a problem. Then there is the business with Hotch.'

Emily was sipping her coffee, legs crossed and Floyd thought she looked wonderfully sweaty in the combat pants and vest top she had on. 'Hotch?' A worried expression. She put the mug down and uncrossed those long sweaty legs.

Floyd took in a deep breath. Taking in all the sweet smells he could. 'Sam went there. He's not there now. Hasn't been for a while. The local cops, though sort of helpful, not totally. I need you to contact that fat blonde chic and get her to check up to see if he's being held anywhere. Can you do that for me? Not that I'm threatening you or anything, but you really don't want me to start doing things to this lovely home that you can't repair. Or will cost money, or just make you puke. I can be revolting when needs be. So that can be done? Now? Or finish your coffee.' Floyd smirked and drank back his scolding hot coffee without even blinking.

Prentiss leaned forward slightly, keeping her eyes on her visitor. 'I have no idea where Spencer is. I can't help you there, but Sam came to me.' She pointed to the remains of her Christmas tree. 'As you can see, he acted strangely. He didn't stay here long, but long enough for me to be very sure that he'd not be staying long and to know why Hotch told him to leave his place. I know where Sam went. I know where he was going to go. Whether he actually did go there, I don't know. I gave the cab driver an address and so I assume that is where he went, but I cannot promise you anything. I don't want you coming back here and spitting your insults in my face because he didn't do what he said he was going to.'

'Princess, do I look like the sort of man who would rip your face off for no good reason? Where the living fuck did you send my boy?' Attempting here to look calm. Not to look like the murdering bastard that he was. Not easy. He was putting a lot of effort into this and only because it was Emily. Anyone else would have been pinned to the wall by now.

'He had nowhere to go. There was little choice, but he didn't have to go there. You do understand that? It wasn't like…'

Floyd cut her off. His irritability quickly building to a point he was unsure he could hold back, Prentiss or not. 'Where the fuck did you send him that you have to be so defensive?'

Emily waved her hand towards the window. 'There are people out there that we do keep track of. People who we think maybe need to be monitored. You are one of them. We keep an eye on you. Watch what you do… you are aware of that.'

'Keep going.'

She nodded. 'Ambrus Lecso Lazar.'

Floyd shook his head. 'No.'

'He took up control of the clan after Iolanda left.' She informed him. Quietly. Ready to jump up and defend herself.

'I know who the fuck he is! I'm telling you, firmly, that you didn't send Sammy to Lazar. You wouldn't have done that. Did he know that was where he was going? You know where the clan are? He wouldn't have gone to him. He's not that stupid. You're not that stupid to think that was a safe place for him. Fuck's sake Emily!'

She stood. Paced. Looked out of the window, watching Floyd's reflection. He was still seated. An incredulous look on his face. 'It was Iolanda who the problem was with. The clan were being led by him and now he's gone… it's safe. They're causing no trouble. They are settled. Purchased a property and live there. They're not travelling. They're in a house. They have solar power, proper water supply and waste disposal. They farm. They don't cause any problems. This Lazar person seems to have the right idea.'

Now Floyd stood. He walked over to the window and placed his hands on the glass, looking over the city. 'Immortal Governor Helped by the Gods.'

'Pardon?'

'That's what his name means. It's a title. Not a name. It could be anyone and you sent my boy to some immortal boss of the dark? Fucking hell. Fucking fuck.' The window was slapped. He wanted dearly to slap Emily but needed more information first. 'Have you ever looked at Spencer, really carefully looked at him. Individual features. The shape of his jaw, his ears? The way his hair lays, that dark smudge so often under his eyes. That dimple of his… and the perfect shape of his eyebrows. Have you seen that? Because I don't think you've ever bothered to really look at my boy. I know you haven't. Likewise have you ever really looked at Sam? His eyes? The shape of his nose? Those divine lips of his and that perfect smile… not that he smiles often, but when he does, damn… I think if you really looked at them, looked at them the way you look at me, you would see something more than you do right now. You'll not see the filth, or hear the vile language. You'd certainly not send a child into the hands of some motherfucker sent here from the other side of the dark to fucking do whatever that bastard was sent here to do! I'm telling you, whatever that creature shows on the surface is not what is really going on there. Give me the damned address. I'm going to have to go and get my boy back and in the meantime I need you to find out where the hell Spencer is.'

Emily went back to grab her coffee, a pen and a bit of paper. She wrote the address she'd sent the cab with Sam to and handed it to Floyd.

'He bought this?' Floyd waved the bit of paper in her face. 'He bought this! He did? And you never fucking bothered to tell me that the biggest cunt ever created was living only an hour away from where we're standing? You stupid bitch! And he can't buy this. This property belongs to me and isn't for sale.'

Prentiss swallowed and raised her eyebrows at Floyd. 'As I said. He's causing no trouble and I was under the impression that you wanted nothing to do with the clan, so why would we have informed you. As for that being your property, you are mistaken. It belonged to the state. Abandoned decades ago…'

'It was mine.' Floyd didn't want to and didn't bother arguing with her. 'If I go missing, that is where you will find me. Probably doing things I'll be locked up for life for. Find Spencer. I need to go rescue Sam, I hope, really fucking hope that he's in more danger than my Spence is because little forgiveness will be given. Don't forget. Please don't make me repeat myself and know now that you're only standing there with your head still attached to your body because I need you to locate Spencer. And when you find him… look at him, properly. Really look. You'll see someone other than the person you think he is.'

There was nothing else to say. Floyd walked from the apartment and went to nick a car to drive up to where she had sent Sam.


End file.
